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My world was jolted by two shadow images: one, thrilling, the other terrifying. After a years-long effort—with 200 other scientists—we made the first image of a black hole, its shadow of no return. Then I fell into debilitating pain. A deadly shadow blot appeared on an MRI of my spine. Faced with emergency surgery and no assurance of success, I sought comfort in memory images from the past and, from collaborative work that engrossed me: images of the whole visible universe could be stored in light circling a black hole. It was a universal memory. An experimental back and forth between the innermost-personal and the astronomical, where shadows and consolation cross.
